


give me a reason to believe it

by blackkat



Series: Star Wars Smut [14]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Cock Warming, Comfort Sex, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26708554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Jaster,” he manages, rough, and Jaster slides an arm behind his head, holds him close as Quinlan wraps his arms around him.“There you are,” Jaster says, brushing his hair back and dragging a thumb over the golden tattoo that cuts back across Quinlan's temple and disappears into his hair.
Relationships: Jaster Mereel/Quinlan Vos
Series: Star Wars Smut [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675714
Comments: 12
Kudos: 374
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	give me a reason to believe it

“Hands on me,” Jaster orders, and his voice is as immovable as stone, breaks through the fog in Quinlan's head like a thunderclap and jars him back to some semblance of reality.

Quinlan isn't about to resist the order, even though he still feels like clawing out of his skin, jerking away, huddling under the blankets and never coming out. But—

Jaster's hand closes over his, and Quinlan groans, opening his eyes. For the first time in days, all he can see is Jaster's face above him, no shadows, no ghosts, no other visions, and he breathes out long and slow, then reaches up. Jaster comes readily, settling over him, and there’s so much bare skin, so much touch, but Quinlan can't feel anything else. Just Jaster, and softness beneath them, and the ringing in his head that says his powers have been out of control for far too long.

“Jaster,” he manages, rough, and Jaster slides an arm behind his head, holds him close as Quinlan wraps his arms around him.

“There you are,” Jaster says, brushing his hair back and dragging a thumb over the golden tattoo that cuts back across Quinlan's temple and disappears into his hair.

Quinlan feels…twitchy. Desperate. He remembers the mission, what he had to do, how Obi-Wan had dragged him out of the ship in the aftermath, and how Quinlan had gone back in, because it was needed. Because it was _necessary_. But—

This is where he wanted to be, that whole time. Right here, with Jaster's weight on top of him, lean, ropy muscle and familiar scars, no psychic impressions screaming out to be heard. Quinlan wants him _closer_ , wants more, and he strokes a hand down Jaster's back, grips his hip, and tugs.

“Jaster,” he manages. “Come on.”

Jaster's taken him through the aftermath of enough burnouts that he doesn’t even argue, just snorts quietly. His hand curls gently in Quinlan's hair, and he lifts his head, meets Quinlan's eyes, and says, “Hands on me, and you don’t move them.”

The order is a relief more than anything. Quinlan digs his fingertips into Jaster's skin, tips his head back as Jaster kisses his throat. His hands sweep down Quinlan's sides, assessing, grounding, and Quinlan shivers, hooks a leg over Jaster's but doesn’t otherwise move. Normally, he’d take control, or at least do more than this, but—

Jaster told him not to move his hands. Quinlan can follow orders. He’s good at that.

“Good boy,” Jaster says, like he’s responding to the thought, and Quinlan closes his eyes, wants to turn his head away but can't.

“Quinlan,” Jaster says, and that’s an order, too. “Eyes open.”

“Bossy old man,” Quinlan mutters, but the direction is a relief. He opens his eyes, watching Jaster's fingers skim down his ribs, but—Jaster is still fully on top of him, hasn’t moved, hasn’t pulled away. That’s a relief, too, and Quinlan rolls his hips up. Jaster's cock is still soft, but Quinlan's getting hard, and he groans, tips his head as Jaster's lips skim his throat. Jaster's hand is stroking his hair, and Quinlan flattens his hands over the muscles of Jaster's back. Sees, like a reflection in a mirror, a hundred thousand other times he’s touched Jaster, and Jaster has touched him back, and his breath shudders out of him in relief.

“Jaster,” he says, pulling, and Jaster huffs, all amusement.

“Weren’t you just calling me names?” he asks pointedly, though he rises up on his elbows just enough to kiss Quinlan again. Breaks it, and kisses him again, and retreats, and when Quinlan groans and slides a hand up into his hair, he snorts.

“You don’t get to call me names and then be cute,” he says, and Quinlan scoffs, refusing to show the thrill that rocks through him at the words.

“’m not,” he manages, and Jaster actually laughs.

“You are,” he counters, and slips a hand between them, curling his fingers around his half-hard cock, Quinlan's hard shaft. When Quinlan starts to move his hand to help him, Jaster makes a sharp sound, and Quinlan immediately puts his hand back on Jaster's shoulder. It makes Jaster him, raising a brow at him as he leans over Quinlan, propped up on one forearm. “See? Obedient. So good for me, Quin. Always so good, and the sweetest thing I've ever touched.”

Quinlan's face burns, and he groans, digs his fingers into Jaster's muscles in halfhearted protest. “Quit that,” he complains, and the stroke of Jaster's hand over his cock makes him twitch, hips rising. Jaster's heavy, though, holds him down, and Quinlan's relief is a bright, hot thing beneath his breastbone. “Everyone’s going to think you hit your head— _ng_ —”

“Well, _that’s_ hardly news,” Jaster says dryly, voice rough. He sinks down, burying his face in the curve of Quinlan's neck, and his hand is big, rough with calluses against Quinlan's cock. Every pull of his hand makes heat curl in Quinlan's belly, and he hooks his legs over Jaster's, rolls his hips up. Feels the shuddering of Jaster's breath, the hitch in his rhythm as he adjusts, and moans.

“So sweet,” Jaster says in his ear, almost a growl, and his fingers are tight in the twists of Quinlan's hair, pinning him perfectly in place. “So sweet, and you always come back to _me_.”

“Where else would I go?” Quinlan gets out, then tips his head, catches Jaster's mouth as the heat twists higher, hotter. He gasps, shudders, comes wet across his own stomach as Jaster strokes him through it. Strokes _himself_ , hard, tight, and he doesn’t come easily, but—Quinlan knows how to get him there. Know what he wants, and what he needs, and tugs at Jaster's shoulder.

“My mouth,” he says. “Let me—”

Jaster stills, breathing hard. His hand strokes Quinlan's hair again, and he lifts his head, catches Quinlan's chin with cum-streaked fingers, and tips his chin to meet his eyes.

“Want to warm my cock for a little while?” he asks, gaze dark, and Quinlan shudders, moans, doesn’t let himself look away. After a long, long moment, he manages a nod, and Jaster kisses him hard and sits up, hauling Quinlan along with an arm around his waist. Quinlan's legs feel shaky, but he manages to stay on his feet as Jaster helps him across the bedroom, to an overstuffed chair by the window. There's a book on the table, a lamp, and Jaster switches it on and sinks down in the chair, keeping a hand on Quinlan's skin the whole time.

With a breath, Quinlan drops to his knees right between Jaster's thighs, leans forward. Big hands stroke his hair away from his face, guide him down, and Quinlan shudders as he swallows Jaster's cock, opening his throat and taking it as deep as he can. Jaster holds him there for a second, petting him, and then Jaster leans back in his chair, one hand on Quinlan's head, the other reaching for his book.

“Stay like that a while,” he says, and that’s an order too, but soft. Velvet over Quinlan's raw nerves, and Quinlan sinks down, lets his eyes close as that familiar hand strokes his hair, his shoulders. He can feel Jaster's slow-burning pleasure, the sharper appreciation of how Quinlan looks like this. Jaster's cock is a weight on his tongue, keeping his jaw open, a constant reminder of where he is and where he isn't.

Home, safe, with Jaster. And that’s everything.

Jaster's voice is quiet, soothing as he starts to read aloud, and Quinlan sinks into the peaceful ebb of his emotions, steady and comfortable, and lets himself have what he needs.


End file.
